


Little Sister!Reader/Sherlock

by SugarPrincess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst and Feels, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Mentions of Sex, Protective Sherlock, Reader is adopted little sister, protective Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarPrincess/pseuds/SugarPrincess
Summary: Basically other characters seeing Reader and Sherlock together and being very confused because Sherlock is being nice *gasp* Reader obviously having some power over Sherlock, Sherlock being soft. General cuteness.The both of them being protective towards each other.Reader having a bit of a thing with Moriarty because he's hot and interesting and she's not that innocent.Mostly just fluffy fun though.*Slow updates*
Relationships: Jim Moriarty & Reader, Jim Moriarty/Reader, Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You
Comments: 39
Kudos: 359





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Any tips on writing a better summary would be greatly appreciated. Comments in general. I adore feedback.

John Watson

They open the door to the apartment. There was a woman in his chair.  
“Hello Sherly.”  
She turns, resting her arms over the back, beaming up at the detective.  
A woman who knows Sherlock, is in their apartment, smiles at him and calls him-  
“Sherly?” John repeats.  
Sherlock lets out a long suffering sigh.  
“(Y/N). What are you doing here?”  
“What I can’t miss you?” she tilts her head to the side.  
“Well, you hardly ever do,” Sherlock looks away like a petulant child.  
Sherlock was rarely well behaved. But he rarely acted childish around other people.  
“That’s not true,” she frowns.  
She’s quite pretty even frowning.  
She holds out her hand.  
“Feel my pulse if you don’t believe me,” she glares with a pout.  
Sherlock looks at her the way he looks at a case. Then goes to grab her wrist.  
“I missed you,” she juts out her chin, “I don’t see nearly enough of you,” she presses her fingers to his wrist, “Are you happy to see me?”  
She looks up at him through her lashes. Sherlock’s jaw ticks. He pulls away, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.  
“Don’t you usually bother Mycroft when you’re lonely?” Sherlock kicks at the carpet.  
So she knew Sherlock and Mycroft? John frowns. That didn’t explain anything. Or did it?  
No, he’s got nothing.  
“Jealous?” she teases, grinning again.  
They act almost like lovers. But this was Sherlock.  
“You’ve always liked him more,” Sherlock accuses.  
“I love you both,” she says firmly, “But Mycroft spoils me,” she adds with a grin.  
“Must I win your favor with presents?”  
“You don’t have to win anything you’ve already got. I’ve always liked you better. It’s the hair I think,” she looks fondly up at him, “Those curls are a completely unfair with that face you know?”  
Well now they were just flirting. Blatantly flirting. Maybe he should back out of the room. Neither one of them had acknowledged him. That made it pretty clear how welcome he was. Except this was his apartment.  
“Genetics,” Sherlock shrugs, “And that’s rather shallow.”  
She shrugs as if to say ‘so what’.  
Then fixes her gaze on him.  
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”  
“John, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), John,” Sherlock waves his hand between them.  
She stands to shake his hand. She looks even better standing up. Sherlock sends him a withering look.  
“She’s my sister,” he glares, voice laced with venom.  
Sherlock suddenly looked a lot taller than usual.  
John nearly takes a step back.  
“Sister!” she smiles, “Feeling generous today then? He usually doesn’t like admitting our relation,” she turns to John.  
“Well, it’s not much of a relation,” Sherlock says dismissively, “She’s adopted.”  
“Sherlock!” John gasps, offended on her behalf.  
“Oh he’s just bitter because I’m the favorite,” she smiles unbothered.  
John doesn’t doubt that.  
Clearly, they were familiar for her to be so used to his behavior. Hell, she seemed very fond of him in spite of it. And it explained how she knew Mycroft, too. But sister. John would not have guessed sister. After meeting Mycroft he’d imagined the whole Holmes family to be rather abnormal. But she was very charming, and playful and lovely. And entirely off limits. Especially after that look from Sherlock.  
Still.  
His sister didn’t talk to him like that.  
But normal human behavior wasn’t something Sherlock or Mycroft ever bothered with. It sort of made sense.  
Still. His eyes go very wide. He never thought he’d see Sherlock Holmes let anyone play with his hair.  
Perhaps this was all a very strange dream. Or a hallucination. Maybe he’d hit his head a lot harder than he thought he did.  
“I think I’ll go lay down,” he mutters, heading off to bed.  
(Y/N) smiles at him and gives him an enthusiastic wave. Her other hand still deep in Sherlock’s curls.  
Sherlock who was leaning his head down so she could comfortably reach him.  
Yes, this was definitely not real John decides. But he smiles back anyway.  
There was no reason to be rude to lovely imagined sisters. It wasn’t like he would be seeing her again.  
But John does see her again.  
A lot.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg Lestrade 

This wasn’t making any sense. He was going to have to call Sherlock. Greg sighs. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sherlock. He had complete faith in the man. It was just that. Well, he didn’t like Sherlock. It was very hard to like Sherlock.   
He stares, distressed at his phone. Before sending the text. 

I’m busy

Greg fumes. It wasn’t as if Sherlock Holmes had a life outside of his work. He was being deliberately difficult. Forcing him to beg. Fine. Greg begs.   
There is no response for five minutes. 

Fine. I’ll be there in twenty. It better be good. 

Sure enough Sherlock Holmes walks into his office twenty minutes later.   
Dressed as a pirate.   
It wasn’t one of those cheap costumes either. There was no way that burgundy velvet, gold buttoned coat was cheap. And on his head was a massive hat with an even more massive feather.   
If that wasn’t alarming enough he was followed in by a gorgeous young woman dressed as Tinkerbell.   
Greg gapes at them. Brain short circuiting.   
What on earth was he looking at?  
He could understand all of these things individually. But together none of it made sense.   
“Well,” Pirate Sherlock waves his hands, “What is it you need so desperately?”  
“Oh um, this case,” Greg scrambles to hand him the papers, distracted by the amount of leg Tinkerbell girl was flaunting, “Could you take a look?”   
Sherlock narrows his eyes at him. And takes the folder with more force than necessary.  
Greg takes the hint and keeps his eyes on her face. It’s a lovely face.  
“So you were actually busy.”  
“Yes. I told you I was,” Sherlock doesn’t look up from the folder.   
Well, he had. But Greg had assumed he was doing one of his ridiculous experiments. 243 types of tobacco ash or whatever it was he busied himself with. Not whatever this was. He stares at the woman.  
The woman stares back, and flashes him a smile. Jesus, she seemed nice. Why was she with Sherlock? And what was she doing with Sherlock? He wonders again looking at their outfits. It wasn’t Halloween. And Sherlock never celebrated Halloween. He really wants to ask. But he’s not sure if he really wants to know.   
“We were playing a game,” she answers his unasked question and moves to sit on his desk.   
Greg nods even though that gives him more questions than answers.   
“He’s Captain Hook and I’m Tinkerbell. And he chases me around. It’s basically tag except he’s always It and there’s more glitter involved,” she explains.   
“Right,” Greg nods. More lost than ever.  
“It would be better if we had a trampoline. But jumping on the bed works well enough.”   
Oh god, this wasn’t a sex thing was it? Did Sherlock even have sex? Christ, he can’t think about this. In fact he’ll die if it’s a sex thing.   
His face goes red. And his eyes fall back on her legs. It was a very small, tight fitting dress for tag. And it didn’t just flaunt her legs, his eyes stutter over her cleavage.   
“(Y/N) could you get me a cup of coffee?”   
“I don’t work for you.”  
“I’ll buy you food later.”  
“You’d buy me food anyway. I’m far too cute to be allowed to go hungry. And I’d make you,” she smirks.  
And Greg is beyond stunned when Sherlock doesn’t refute this. Was Sherlock, whipped?  
“Please,” Sherlock says plainly.   
Greg looks up at the ceiling, half expecting it to cave in and crush them all. The sky had to be falling. There had to be something to explain this phenomenon. Sherlock Holmes just said ‘please’.  
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” she slides off his desk, Greg catches the briefest glance of her panties, “Greg do you want anything?”  
He blinks.  
“Uh, no thank you.”  
“Kay,” she walks out of his office.   
Hang on, he never mentioned his name. Sherlock didn’t even remember his name.   
Sherlock smacks his hands on his desk.   
He nearly falls out of his chair.   
“I like you George. You’re the only person in this entire department I can stand. But if you don’t stop ogling at my little sister I will gouge out your eyes. Understand?”  
“Your sister?” he repeats.   
“Yes, you just met her.”  
Tinkerbell is Sherlock’s sister!  
Wait-  
“You play dress up tag with your sister?”  
“Well I’m certainly not going to play dress up tag with Mycroft,” Sherlock scowls, disgusted by the thought, “Besides,” he sighs, “She does as she pleases.”  
“Right.”  
Definitely whipped then.   
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”  
He really hadn’t.  
“Yes, I know,” Sherlock sighs, “John had the same problem. Men can’t seem to help themselves. Do try.”  
“Of course.”  
Jesus is that why John wasn’t here? He’s afraid to ask.   
Sherlock nods. And returns to the folder.   
“What’s the glitter for?” he asks after a moment of silence.  
“The glitter is pixie dust.”

Sally Donovan

So maybe she was overstepping telling this girl to stay away from the Freak. But she was just looking out for the girl. She was so young and wide eyed, and running around with the Freak doing whatever Freak thing that apparently involved costume.   
Well, the girl clearly needed to be warned against it. Sherlock was a psychopath, and she needed to be warned away.   
But instead of those wide eyes growing wider like Sally expected. They just got a lot harder.   
And Sally started feeling something she rarely ever did.   
Doubt.   
“Listen Sally,” the girl smiles but it’s not at all friendly, maybe because Sally never mentioned her name, “You don’t have to like him. I wouldn’t ask that of you. It would be unreasonable. But you do have to respect him. He knows more than you could ever comprehend. And you actually need him to solve your cases. And I get it,” she laughs, Sally feels chills, “It must be refreshing to have someone so easy to shit on. To actually be in the presence of someone people dislike even more than they dislike you. Just to have a target in general. It must be hard to be so unlikable and incompetent,” her words dig uncomfortably deep, “But,” she takes a step forward, Sally takes a step back hitting the side of her desk, “You do not ever speak to him in that way ever again. No one gets to be mean to my brother but fucking me,” she drops the smile all together, “I can make your life a living hell. I could ruin you completely,” Sally tries to open her mouth, nothing comes out, “Would that be a disproportionate reaction? Yeah, probably,” she shrugs, looking briefly away before her eyes fix back on hers, bolting her in place like goddamn steel, “Would I still do it?” she leans in, every warning there is goes off in Sally’s head, this girl is fucking dangerous, “Definitely,” she whispers.  
The door to Lestade’s office opens and she pulls back. Calm and soft and looking ridiculous and darling in her Tinkerbell costume. Completely unassuming. Every bit the naive little girl she thought she was dealing with.  
She almost thinks she imagined it. But her ear is still burning from the whispered threat. Her heart still racing.   
The kind of discomfort Sherlock caused was nothing compared to the terror that was his little sister.   
“All good?” she smiles at Sherlock.   
“Hardly took any effort at all. You never got me coffee.”   
“You never wanted coffee. You just wanted me out of the room.”  
They share a smile.   
Sherlock’s eyes go between her and his sister.  
“I see you met Donovan.”  
“Yeah. We were just having a little chat.”  
The word ‘Freak’ dies on her lips before it starts.   
Sherlock frowns at her silence. The sister gives her a pointed look.   
“Thank you for coming in,” she chokes out.   
Sherlock looks positively alarmed. The sister looks pleased.   
“Always happy to help,” she answers for him, then loops her arm through his, “Let’s go Sherly. You promised me food.”   
Sally Donovan sighs in relief as they leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly Hooper

She was probably just overreacting. Reading into things.  
Except. Sherlock rarely ever brings other people to the lab. He’s certainly never brought a girl. And this one was practically hanging off his arm and he just lets her! Years of knowing him and she has never seen him so accommodating.  
It shouldn’t bother her. For him to be with someone. And they were obviously together. And that shouldn’t bother her. She’d shot her shot and been shot down. And she was seeing someone now. Jim from IT. And Jim was very nice. So she really had nothing to be upset about.  
So what if Sherlock was seeing someone? And it was serious enough that he was letting her tag along to watch him work. Letting her latch onto to his arm without complaint. Setting out a stool for her right next to his. Letting her wrap her arms around his neck and hang off his back like a human sized koala while he’s working. Answering her questions with patience of all things!  
It was baffling. It was ridiculous. It was infuriating.  
Just how did they even meet?  
How did she manage to snag Sherlock of all people? And so thoroughly.  
Molly watches in horror, jealousy, fascination as they interact.  
She’s curling her fingers through his hair now.  
And he’s still letting her.  
“Sherly, I’m bored.”  
Sherly.  
SHerly!  
“I’m working.”  
Yes, clearly! Did she have any idea who she was interrupting? Molly’s hands shake around her mug.  
“You said this would be interesting,” she pouts, “I’m bored.”  
“Well, perhaps I thought too highly of you,” Sherlock keeps his eyes over the microscope.  
Molly lets hope flutter through her.  
The girl laughs.  
“Self-absorbed ass.”  
“Spoiled brat.”  
“Nerd,” she drags out the word, mouth a sharp smirk.  
Molly is prepared to be offended. Stutter out some sort of response. But there’s an uptick in Sherlock’s lip.  
And she knows she’s out of her depth.  
She watches as the girl wraps her arms around his neck once again.  
“What are you looking at anyway?”  
Sherlock moves to let her see.  
She leans in. Her hair falls over. Sherlock catches it, expertly, smoothly, and loops the lock behind her ear. Molly might choke.  
“Mmmm.”  
“You see something?” Sherlock asks.  
“Nope,” she pops the p, “No idea what I’m looking at.”  
Sherlock glares at her. At least Molly could do that with him.  
“What?” she shrugs, “You have your expertise. And I have mine.”  
“Which is what exactly?” he scoffs, sitting back down to peer through the microscope.  
She sticks out her tongue in his line of sight.  
Molly’s chest pangs at the sight of that curve still present in his mouth. She’s never seen him smile so much in the lab, just analyzing things. She’s only ever seen him smile when he figures something out.  
That girl must really be something special.  
“I’d like my skull now,” she declares, putting her hands on her hips, “The one you promised me if I came along.”  
Sherlock bribed her to come with him! Molly felt as though her eyes might burst out of her sockets.  
“You only get the skull if you stay until I’m done.”  
That could be hours.  
The girl’s eyes narrow. She studies Sherlock with an unexpectedly sharp focus that was vaguely like…Sherlock.  
“Sherly…this wouldn’t happen to be a scheme to force me into missing dinner plans would it?” her voice loses it’s playful tone.  
And she suddenly seemed, well, not so young.  
“He’s not good enough for you,” Sherlock mutters.  
Molly blinks. So they weren’t together? After everything she’d seen that made even less sense.  
“What makes you think I’m seeing a guy?”  
Molly blinks some more. Had she really misread things so completely?  
“You act differently when you’re seeing women.”  
“Do I?”  
“Yes,” Sherlock changes a slide, “You’re a lot more flustered.”  
“Huh,” the girl looks off to the side.  
“I’m surprised it took you so long to figure out what I was doing. You’re usually sharper. He must be very good looking.”  
“Jealous?” she teases.  
Sherlock scoffs.  
“Please. Why would I be jealous? He should be jealous. He should be afraid.”  
Molly hated to admit it, but Sherlock sounded pretty jealous.  
“What just because he’s not good enough for me?” the girl raises one brow, and moves to sit on the side of the desk, which is just all kinds of wrong.  
Molly shouldn’t be surprised by Sherlock’s absurd lenience towards this girl anymore. But she still expects him to tell her off. He says nothing about it.  
“Who would be good enough for me?” she asks.  
“Nobody.”  
“You’d like it if I became a nun.”  
“I said nobody. Not god,” Sherlock says with deep disdain.  
“Oh my b,” she widens her eyes, hand to her chest, playful again, “I forgot. You’re the only higher power worth believing in.”  
“You’d do well to remember that,” he says with a smirk.  
She purses her lip, leaning slightly to the side.  
“I’m not a little girl anymore Sherlock,” she sounds serious again, “It would do you well, to remember that.”  
Sherlock’s smirk drops. He turns back to the microscope. Mood clearly soured.  
Molly watches her watch him ignore them both.  
It’s silent for minutes. Molly is almost tempted to say something. Except she’s quite sure they’d both forgotten she was there.  
The girl sighs and steps off the desk, moving to walk off.  
She makes it around the desk before Sherlock stops her, his hand closing around her wrist.  
“I know...I just don’t like it.”  
Molly blinks. Sherlock managed to make such simple words sound so intimate. She felt like she was intruding. She was shamelessly spying. But she hadn’t felt like she was intruding on something until now.  
The girl licks her lips, and looks at him.  
“I can take care of myself. I’m quite the menace, you know?”  
“I know.”  
“So what are you so worried about?”  
Sherlock says nothing. Staring firmly into the lens. But given how fast he worked Molly could guess he wasn’t actually seeing just looking.  
The girl carries on.  
“There’s nothing to worry about you know. Even if I wasn’t so capable all on my own,” she pauses, “I’ve got this brother.”  
“Oh?” Sherlock’s eyes flick to her.  
“Yeah, he’s a really big deal. You’d know it if you ever met him. He’s exceedingly intelligent, so efficient it’s almost ruthless. And he’s totally got my back,” she brags.  
“Is that right?” Sherlock turns to her, looking more and more pleased.  
“Mhmm. I mean,” she pauses, pressing her lips together before they burst from the tight line to a wild grin, “Mycroft basically runs the British government.”  
Wait-  
Wait WHAT!  
Sherlock’s eyes go dead, and his jaw snaps tight.  
“Mycroft..”  
“Yeah,” she grins at him, plays with a lock of her hair absentmindedly, “Oh, Sherlock’s alright, too.”  
“...alright…too.”  
Sherlock looks murderous.  
The girl-his sister, grins sweetly at him before snickering, then laughing, then full on cackling.  
“Oh my god your face!” she cries, wiping away tears.  
Sherlock turns angrily back to the microscope. And promptly breaks his slide sample. This drives her into another fit of giggles before she once again wraps her arms around him. This time he does attempt to shrug her off. To no avail. She curls her arms around his neck and sets her chin on the crown of his head.  
“You know I love you, stupid.”  
“I despise you,” he hisses.  
It’s not very convincing despite how fiercely he spits it out.  
She certainly isn’t bothered, the way she laughs and then promptly goes to lick his face. Molly nearly drops her mug.  
But sister.  
She was his sister. Molly could sing!  
Sherlock’s face scrunches up.  
“You’re disgusting!”  
“And you love me.”  
“Purely out of obligation.”  
“Of course, I would never presume.”  
She strokes his cheek.  
“You know if you just asked me very nicely I might have canceled.”  
“Really?" Sherlock turns to look at her, "…He must not be all that then.”  
“Well, the way a man takes rejection tells you a lot.”  
“And you love me best.”  
“That’s debatable.”  
“I disagree,” Sherlock says firmly.  
“I want my skull.”  
“You’ll get it.”  
“And Thai food.”  
“...I don’t understand why you insist on three meals a day.”  
“No one would think less of you if you ate and solved cases,” She side eyes him, hard.  
“Cancel your date.”  
“I don’t think so.”  
“You just said-”  
“I said ‘if you had asked me very nicely I might have’.”  
Sherlock glares at her, then goes back to work. She ruffles his hair. He swats her hand away.  
The door opens.  
“Hey,” it’s Jim come to see her. Goodness, Molly had completely forgotten!  
“Gay.”  
“What?” She turns to Sherlock.  
“Hey,” Sherlock corrects himself.  
“This is my boyfriend," Molly stresses boyfriend as she brings him over, "Jim from IT."


	4. Chapter 4

(Y/N)

Having grown up with Sherlock and under Mycroft’s watchful eye (Y/N) was hardly new to surprises. Still, seeing her date show up expertly playing Molly’s gay boyfriend was unexpected. Well, she loves a good game.  
He recognizes her no doubt. She wasn’t wearing a disguise.  
The pants are a nice touch. Not very subtle. But he wasn’t going for subtle. What was he going for?  
“Hey, you’re Sherlock Holmes…” her brother, of course.  
Who better to play games with than her brother?  
“And you are?” he turns to her, head tilting to the side.  
He made a very good show of not knowing her. A worthy opponent, no doubt.  
She smiles.  
“(Y/N),” let him guess just a minute longer.  
“His sister!” Molly offers excitedly.  
God, that poor girl was so enamoured with her brother. But people always want what they can’t have.  
“You don’t look alike.”  
“Adopted, obviously,” Sherlock interrupts, eyes glued to his task. Uninterested but always ready to state the obvious.  
“Obviously,” she agrees, a quirk in her lips.  
“Don’t you have a dinner date?” Sherlock mutters, still bitter.  
She and “Jim from IT” share the briefest of glances.  
“Oh, I think it can wait,” she smiles, “In fact, I’m sure he won’t mind.”  
Molly walks out Jim from IT. He’s very clumsy, knocking over dishes and slipping his number under them.  
“Why did you say that? Gay!”  
She tunes out Molly’s shock, and Sherlock’s cruel kindness as he explains all the obvious signs Molly missed.  
Her phone pings. 

Just what makes you think I wouldn’t mind waiting? - Brooks

I do believe I’ve caught you “Richard” darling. - (Y/N)

Best keep those lips sealed. I could kill you. Now. - Brooks

She’s sure he could. All the whispers she’d heard lately were forming a very interesting picture. But she doubts very much he would kill her right now. It just wouldn’t suit him. It would be such a missed opportunity. 

So soon? At least buy me dinner first. - (Y/N)

It takes far too much willpower not to say something filthy about how much better he might like her mouth open. 

How long are you going to make me wait? -Brooks

Not long…should be time enough to off whoever forgot to mention my relation ;) -(Y/N)

She’s never met a forgiving criminal mastermind. She’d be disappointed if he didn’t have a bit of a temper. With eyes like that, anger would look good on him.  
Molly rushes out sniffling. Sherlock looks over at her the picture of confusion.  
And he wonders what her expertise is. Honestly.  
“I got it,” she sighs.  
“What did I do?” he asks her, blue eyes wide.  
“Think it over,” she gives him a stern look.  
Sherlock frowns. She pats his shoulder on her way out. He honestly didn’t know any better.  
She finds Molly crying in the hall. She could have gone a lot farther if she’d wanted privacy. Likely holding out some misguided hope Sherlock might find her. She’s almost sorry to disappoint. But it would be better she learn now that was never going to happen.  
“I’m sorry about Sherlock. He doesn’t mean to be mean.”  
She hands her a tissue.  
“He’s right though, isn’t he?” Molly takes it, “About Jim.”  
“Yeah,” Not entirely, “Sorry Molly.”  
“No, I’m sorry. This is not the kind of impression I wanted to give,” her lip quivers.  
“I have nothing but respect for people who put up with my brother and still treat him kindly,” she says earnestly.  
“Oh, I’m glad you approve.”  
Christ, she’s really into him, going as far to look for her approval.  
“You’re a nice girl Molly. But the thing about Sherlock is he’s married to his work. Jim is definitely not an option. But Sherlock isn’t really either.”  
“Has he always been like this?” Molly wonders.  
“Yeah. Sherlock’s fairly consistent in his lack of interest. He’s never dated anyone.”  
“I see.”  
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate you.”  
She’s fairly sure he does. Just not as much as he should. Certainly not as much as she hopes.  
“But I shouldn’t hope for something.”  
“It’s best you don’t.”  
Molly nods. Then laughs, sadly.  
“Yeah, I think. I think I’ve known that for a while.”  
“You’ll find someone. Just give it time. No point rushing these things.”  
She leans against the wall. Leaving right away would give off the wrong impression. She hadn’t just come out for Sherlock’s benefit. It was mostly for him. But the point was to make Molly feel better.  
“What uh, happened with your date?”  
“Oh!” she blinks, “I rescheduled it for later. Going to make sure Sherlock eats first then sneak out,” she widens her eyes conspiratorially.  
“Sherlock will be angry,” Molly whispers, “He’s very fond of you, isn’t he?”  
“Well I’m the baby,” she smirks, “I could get away with murder.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jim Moriarty (ack I don’t really know how to write something from Jim’s POV, so it’s from Reader’s but he is the focus. Their flirting is anyway. It’s literally just them flirting in a street.)

She spots him just barely in the dull glow of the streetlight. She loves the suit. Westwood. God, he was so her type.  
“Just what do I call you? Richard…or Jim?”  
He steps out and looks at her bashful. “Jim will do.”  
“Is that your real name?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“Not really. Not to me.”  
What did it matter to her what he called himself? He chuckles at the ground then looks back up at her.  
“You can call me James.”  
“James,” she repeats, “That’s better.”  
“I’m so glad you approve.”  
He says it teasingly, but she can sense some truth. Maybe he didn’t like ‘Jim’ all that much either. Why would he when he was in possession of something so much better?  
“But Moriarty,” she purrs, “now that’s just delicious.”  
His grin turns predatory.  
“You are so sweet.”  
“I know,” she sighs, “I just can’t help myself.”  
“Why bother?” he looks her up and down, eyes so so dark, “I like a little sugar.”  
“I can be mean, too,” she pouts.  
“I hope so,” his eyes flash.  
He walks a little ways ahead, still facing her. There’s no one else here. She wonders if he made sure of that.  
The lights cast changing shadows across his face as they move. She wants to run her hand over every angle. She’s always liked the angles in a face. Always admired Sherlock’s cheekbones. James was whole different flavor. But still so pretty. She likes pretty. Everybody does. Why bother pretending otherwise when she can simply enjoy?  
“I didn’t think you would show.”  
No? She’d messaged him.  
“How could I miss this? You’re obviously no ordinary man. Playing games with my brother.”  
James preens at that.  
Of course he has an ego.  
“Still showing up alone,” he narrows his eyes, lowers his voice, “I could be dangerous.”  
“I know for a fact you are…Explosive, too,” she widens her eyes for effect.  
He lights up.  
“Did you like that?”  
“I wouldn’t say I liked it. I don’t have your disregard,” she admits, “But it was a smart play,” Sherlock certainly couldn’t refuse, and that was the point, “Killer,” her lips curve around the word.  
He grins wildly at her.  
“Does he talk about me?”  
He asks with barely contained excitement. So he really was a fan then. A very big fan. He had made everything very personal. It was almost like foreplay, this game of theirs.  
She’s not sure who she’s jealous of.  
“Not to me. But he thinks about you.”  
That much was obvious. Even if she hadn’t heard him whisper the actual word.  
“Do you think about me?”  
James’ eyes are fixed on hers, his voice low.  
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she arches her brow, “Against all logic. But you know what they say about curiosity and satisfaction.”  
“Are you satisfied?” he leans in, breath hot against her.  
“That remains to seen,” she looks coyly up at him, “I am entertained. That’s almost just as good.”  
“I agree,” he nods smiling, then bursting, “I cannot believe I didn’t know he had a sister!”  
“So our meeting wasn’t planned?”  
“Oh it was planned,” he purrs, “I had my eye on you for a while. I made Richard just for you.”  
“How sweet.”  
It was, in a twisted sort of way.  
“Aren’t I just?”  
He certainly managed to look sweet.  
“I suppose I did like him,” she admits.  
“Who do you like better?”  
He sidles up close to her. She chuckles.  
“Guess,” she tilts her head, so they’re nearly kissing.  
Not yet though.  
Not yet.  
They both tilt a hair away, still staying very close.  
“Why didn’t you tell him?” He wants to know.  
Of course he wants to know.  
“And ruin the game?” she frowns, can’t have that, he’s set things up so carefully, “I wanna see how it plays out.”  
And she knew Sherlock liked it, too. This one was not boring.  
Not at all.  
“I could kiss you,” he says it with such vigor.  
“Why don’t you?”  
She challenges him, eyes flashing.  
He attacks her with that brutal mouth. She wasn’t expecting a chaste kiss by any means but the way he moved his tongue was pure sin. His hands grasp at her face, sink into her hair, slide down her jaw, curl around her neck and all the while he mouth molds hers. She kisses him back with equal ferocity, not one to be outdone. Never one to back down. Not even as his teeth sink into her lip.  
There’s pain and there’s blood, but it’s him that pulls away. Eyes burning, chest heaving.  
Though to be fair she’s breathing just as deeply.  
She nurses her broken lip.  
He licks away the stain of red between his teeth.  
Neither of them look away.  
“Stop helping him,” he says, voice even, “It’s cheating.”  
No fun if there’s cheating. No glory in the win. It wasn’t as if Sherlock needed an upper hand. But he was her brother.  
“I won’t get involved so long as you don’t force my hand,” James tilts his head, his question clear, what would it take, “I won’t allow him dead.”  
“You love him.”  
“Of course.”  
It wasn’t something she’d ever bothered hiding. No point.  
“You love him very much,” James voice, drips.  
She blinks.  
“Are you implying I have an incestuous relationship with my brother?”  
“Hardly incestuous. It’s not as if you’re related by blood.”  
This was going in an unexpected direction.  
“It’s still taboo.”  
“Most fun things are,” he grins wildly at her, then feigns a look of concern, “You look confused darling.”  
“Well,” she was a bit, “I start the day thinking you want to fuck me. Then I find you might very well want to fuck my brother you’re so obsessed. Now here you are trying to tempt me into fucking him myself…I’m just trying to figure out where you get off with that set up.”  
Jim laughs, high and low, before cupping her face and thumbing her lip.  
It stings.  
She doesn’t pull away.  
“Christ, I think I’m in love.”  
He says it with such sincerity. There’s something about the way he talks. And it’s not just the accent. It’s as though he’s breathing life into every word. But-  
“I didn’t know you could be in love.”  
And it was a bit early for such declarations.  
But this was no usual situation.  
“You know, I’m not sure I can either,” he tilts his head, before fixing his gaze back on her, “But you make me feel something thrilling,” he says the words in a way that thrills her, he pauses, eyes still solely on her, “…So long as you stay out of it. I’ll keep you out of it. Fair?”  
“Exceedingly,” she raises a brow.  
“I’m surprising myself, too. I’m not usually so nice.”  
She supposes there’s a first for everything.  
“I don’t usually let other people play games with my brother.”  
“Never had to share?”  
“Never.”  
Never had to.  
“I’m flattered,” he brings her hands to his chest, “I want to see you again.”  
He doesn’t bother pretending to ask.  
“I’m sure you’ll be watching me plenty,” she looks coyly at him.  
“See you again, darling. That’s not quite the same thing,” he shakes his head, smiling.  
“No, not quite,” she agrees, sucking in her raw lip.  
His eyes flick down to the action.  
“Is that a yes?”  
His gaze meets hers again, hungry, burning, thrilling.  
“Yes.”


	6. Chapter 6

John Watson

She bursts into tears. John gapes. It just was so unexpected. So fast. And she was still so pretty. There is a vague memory tickling in the back of his head that she’s playing. But John can’t seem to remember it too overwhelmed by the waterworks and the need to comfort the poor girl.  
Sherlock looks not at all moved.  
John glares at him.  
“She’s done this before,” Sherlock explains, “It’s nothing to be excited about.”  
“What cry? Most people have!” John exclaims, putting his arm around her.  
That triggers a response out of the detective. His mouth curls into a sneer. John is appalled by the display.  
“I thought we agreed you would stop taking advantage of John’s goodwill.”  
What was he on about?  
The crying stops as quickly as it started.  
“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be so affected.”  
She blinks up at him, tear heavy lashes making her eyes look even larger than usual.  
“The fuck,” is all John can manage.  
“I thought you knew I was playing. You asked if I had any special skills remember?”  
Oh yes, now John does remember.  
“And you burst into tears,” he says very slowly, once again questioning his reality.  
“And you would have given me whatever I wanted. Wouldn’t you?”  
She smirks at him, not unkindly. But she certainly didn’t seem as innocent as she did to him before.  
“(Y/N) has always been a heartless manipulator-”  
“-Successful in my endeavors,” she corrects her brother, a smile on her lips.  
John looks between the two of them. Another vague memory pulling at him. Sherlock crying on command to get information.  
“You’ve done this sort of thing, too!” John gasps, “With the grieving widow.”  
“That was for a case,” Sherlock justifies.  
“Where do you think he learned?” she smiles coyly.  
“Christ, you really are pieces of work the both of you,” John sighs looking at the ceiling.  
“I’m sorry John,” she says, and she sounds so small he can’t help but-  
“Hey!”  
“Okay!” she rolls her eyes, “What do you want? Will you forgive me if I kiss you?” she offers.   
John sputters.  
“No,” Sherlock says, eyes flashing.  
“Well I-I mean, I wouldn’t mind that.”   
Not at all.  
She leans in.  
“Absolutely not!” Sherlock stands from his chair, “No. Get away from him.”  
“It’s his decision,” she stops, turning to Sherlock.  
Sherlocks glares at her. Green eyes pale fire. Before stalking out of the room. His door slams loudly, shaking the whole apartment.  
John feels terrible for even considering. It was clear how much Sherlock adored (Y/N).  
“We shouldn’t. He’s very protective of you.”  
“Oh, it’s not me he’s protecting,” she looks pointedly at him.  
“What me?” John points incredulously at himself.  
“Obviously,” she didn’t say it with Sherlock’s exact attitude, but god it was unnervingly familiar.  
But-  
“You’re his little sister.”  
“His manipulative little sister,” she reminds him, “You’re his best friend.”  
She looks him over, with certain clinical sharpness that mirrored her brother.   
“So it was just a game then?”  
John is a little offended.  
“I wanted to see how much he cares about you.”  
“You couldn’t ask?”  
“Sherlock doesn’t just admit things like that.”  
“And it’s more fun for you this way,” he narrows his eyes.  
“I told you, I’m not nearly as sweet as I look.”  
He supposes she had.  
“No kiss then?” He’s a little disappointed.  
She smiles.  
“You can have a little one," she holds her fingers together, "For being so nice.”  
She certainly managed to look sweet.   
He turns to her, closing his eyes. Soft lips press against his cheek. She smells faintly of vanilla.  
“Forgive me?” she asks, pulling away.  
John smiles.  
“People don’t hold things against you very often do they?”  
“Oh they absolutely do! I’m loathed nearly as much as my brothers. But I’m adored twice as much,” she flutters her lashes.  
He doesn’t doubt it.  
“Should we?” he gestures towards Sherlock’s room.  
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up my own mess,” she reassures him, “In a minute,” she adds, raising her cup of tea to her lips.  
“Alright,” John nods, if she was offering, well he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, “He’ll be okay?”  
He was used to Sherlock having the temperament of a child on crack. But the detective had been fairly tame since his sister had shown up.  
Except the past few days.  
“Yeah, he’s just a little angry with me.”  
“Why?”  
He has yet to see Sherlock get angry at (Y/N). They argued constantly, but without any particular urgency or desire to wound.  
“Why do you think Sherlock Holmes gets angry?” she raises a brow, “He’s missing something,” she explains, “And he knows it.”  
“Oh,” well that did sound like Sherlock.  
But it wouldn’t be long before he figured it out so the mood wouldn’t last, would it?  
John frowns.  
“You’re hiding something from him!”  
“Very good, Dr. Watson,” she smiles, there’s less warmth in it this time.  
She sets down her empty cup, leaning away from him.   
“Why would you hide something from Sherlock?”  
What was the point of trying?  
“If I haven’t told him. Why would I tell you?”  
That was fair. John was prying. There were lots of things he’d like to keep from Sherlock. But he was never successful.  
Still.  
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Could it?

Sherlock Holmes 

He knows it’s her from the way she knocks twice and walks right in.  
“Stop being mad at me.”  
She leans against the door, closing it.  
“What are you doing playing with John?” he glares at her, “You know he likes you.”  
She plops onto the bed.  
“John likes every pretty woman he lays his eyes on. It doesn’t mean anything, and he’s already forgiven me,” oh shocker, he rolls his eyes, “Why don’t you?”  
Why doesn’t he just give in? He always does with her.  
“What I don’t get a kiss?”  
He hisses the word.  
She bites her lip, but her mouth still curves. He’s said something funny then. She grabs him by his collar and drags him down, hands framing his face. She kisses his nose.  
She’s always liked his nose.  
“Stop being mad at me,” she says again, her hands soft against his cheek, “What’s the point?”  
“What’s the point of hiding something from me? I’ll find out.”  
“Then there’s nothing to be mad about is there?”  
She raises her brow.  
He frowns, pulling her hands away.  
“Since when do you keep secrets from me?”  
“There’s a first time for everything,”  
“Yes, but there must be a reason!” he seethes, “What is it?” he waves his hands in air, before standing still, “We used to tell each other everything.”  
It’s a calculated choice of words. Her lips part, brows crease. But just when he thinks she’ll tell him. Her eyes go hard.  
“Don’t play games with me. You’ll lose,” his jaw ticks, “Focus on your cases.”  
“How am I supposed to focus on my cases when all you do is distract me!”  
It was louder than he’d meant it. But they’ve had screaming matches before that have never left her looking…hurt.  
She turns away from him, grabbing her bag.  
“Where are you going?”  
He follows her around the room as she gathers her things. Anger forgotten.   
“I’m going to go stay with Mycroft. His place is bigger anyway. I could actually have my own bed.”  
They’ve always split the bed when she came over. It was never a problem. When they were kids she'd constantly sneak into his bed.   
“You’ve never minded that.”  
It still comes out of his mouth sounding like a question. They’ve always-the sheet was still hanging over the headboard, the pillows stacked, remnants of their fort. She loved that shit. That and hogging the covers and near strangling him in his sleep the way she kept her arm curved over his neck.  
“No, I’ve always liked our sleepovers. But if I’m distracting you then I shouldn’t stay.”  
It sounded logical enough. He watches her throw some clothes into her giant handbag.  
“Are you mad at me?”  
He’s still no good with these things. Even when it’s her. But he didn’t have to be good at these things with her. She’s never mad at him.   
“No, Sherly. I’m not mad,” she assures him, “I’ll call you, okay?”  
“I can call you, too?” he asks.  
“Of course, you have my number.”  
She smiles at him.  
He doesn’t want her to go. Thinking about her not being here is distracting, too.  
“(Y/N) you don’t have to-”  
“I think it’s better I do. For John’s sake,” she jokes, heading for the door.  
“Well, do you want to have lunch tomorrow?” he asks, following her through the living room.  
She always likes it when he eats. It’s one of the few moves he’s got.  
He gets a smile for it.  
“I’ll find you,” she promises before walking out the door.  
John blinks at him from his chair, clearly confused.  
Sherlock storms back to his room. He was missing something. And it’s something obvious. 

(Y/N)

She heads down the stairs. Her phone pings just as she pulls it out. 

Trouble in paradise? -

She ignores him, tapping on Mycroft’s name.  
Her phone pings again. 

Now, now, why run to Big Brother when you can come to Daddy? -


	7. Chapter 7

(Y/N)

A black car pulls up in front of her. James’ smug smiling face greets her as the window rolls down. He’s wearing aviators in a car with blacked out windows because of course he is.  
“I don’t make a habit of getting into cars with strange men.”  
She keeps her feet planted firmly on the sidewalk.  
“Not even when they offer you treats?”  
He raises his brow, and holds up a massive box of chocolates.  
There’s nothing she can do to hide the smile that spreads across her face at that.  
“I suppose that makes it alright then.”  
She slides in beside him.  
He places the box in her lap. She tugs apart the silken ribbon, and pops off the lid. It’s a large assortment but all her favorite type. He does his research doesn’t he?  
“I take good care of you, don’t I?” James whispers into the curve of her neck, hand resting on her knee.  
“Yes.”  
“So what are you doing kissing Dr. Watson,” his voice drops.  
His hand tightens around her thigh. She moves the chocolates to safety.  
“Jealous?”  
“I’m one hand signal away from having his brains splattered all over that quaint little apartment.”  
He leans back lip curling. His eyes are black voids.  
“Why?”  
John could be much better utilized later in the game. Would James really forgo that opportunity over jealousy? Not even deserved jealousy.  
“Why?”  
He leans forward, frowning.  
She stays where she is. Only tilts her head.  
“Why are you jealous?”  
“You’re mine.”  
Is she now?  
She smiles. His eyes flicker to her lips.  
“So why on earth,” she turns to face him, throwing one arm over the back of the seat, “are you jealous of Watson? I think I’ve made it pretty clear what my type is,” she glides her fingers over his face, “He hardly fits,” she slides her hand down his jaw, his neck, smoothing her fingers over his suit and tie, “He certainly doesn’t match up.”  
“Oh goodness his wardrobe is atrocious, isn’t it?” James shudders.  
“Utterly,” she agrees, John really did not know how to layer, “But that’s hardly the point,” James looks at her, clearly much calmer already, “He’s boring. You never bore me.”  
“Why’d you kiss him then?” he wants to know.  
Of course he wants to know. James always wants to know.  
“Playing games, darling?” his eyes light up.  
But she can’t always tell him. It would be an unfair advantage. He already had an unfair advantage, the state her brother was in.  
Just how much did she like him anyway?  
“I don’t have to tell you.”  
“Spoilsport.”  
He pouts.  
She shrugs, and pulls out her phone. Can’t have Sherlock panicking. He and Mycroft rarely spoke about anything other than high priority cases. But she was the exception. If the past was any indication they would both freak if she just left like this. She bites the inside of her cheek remembering the Incident in ‘09.  
“Who are you texting?” he leans over to look, “Sherly!” he gasps, eyes widening comically, “Oh, that’s adorable,” he coos, resting his chin on her shoulder.  
“I told him I was heading to Mycroft’s.”

Change of plans. Going to stay with a friend instead. -(Y/N)

“A friend? Ouch!”  
James slaps his hand to his chest.  
“I’ll make it up to you,” she smirks, side eyeing him.  
She slides a hand up his thigh.  
“Well,” James lowers his shades, eyeing her hand, then looking back up at her, “don’t stop there. I’m still hurting.” 

Sherlock Holmes 

“A friend,” Sherlock repeats, staring at the small screen.  
“Did you say something?”  
John asks, head popping out from the kitchen.  
“SHE’S KNOWN HIM A WEEK AND SHE’S STAYING OVER ARE YOU SHITTING ME!”  
John backs further into the kitchen.  
He seethes as he finds Mycroft’s number.  
“What have you done now?” his brother asks in the usual, deadass tone that irritates him beyond belief.  
“Oh, I haven’t done anything. It’s her,” he beats into the last word, pacing around the room.  
“What’s the matter with her?”  
Of course, he sounds different the second it’s about her. Sherlock’s not even mad about that. He’s depending on it.  
“Where is she? Right now.”  
“Isn’t she supposed to be with you?” accusatory now.  
Oh, come on!  
He hasn’t even done anything!  
“She was with me.”  
“What did you do?”  
“I didn’t do anything!” Sherlock sighs, dragging his hand down his face, “Look, we got into a little argument. She wasn’t even mad. She said so! She just decided it would be better go stay with you for a while.”  
“It is better to stay with me. I don’t know why she ever bothers with your place. Mine is much more equip-”  
“Yes, you’re rich. I know,” he rolls his eyes, “She left five minutes ago and she’s already changed her mind and decided to stay with a friend.”  
“...I take it this is a new friend.”  
Now he’s getting it.  
“She met him a week ago. And she won’t tell me anything about him.”  
“...Well, that’s telling.”  
It was.  
None of it good.  
“I’ll keep an eye out.”  
“Thank you.”  
He actually means it.  
“Did she say anything else?”  
“We had made plans for lunch tomorrow. Nothing specific though. She said she’d find me.”  
“Keep me informed.”  
“Keep ME informed.”  
“...I will.”  
He huffs, hanging up.  
“Sherlock,” John sighs, walking out of the kitchen, “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she just doesn’t want to tell you.”  
“If she doesn’t want to tell me. It’s not nothing, JAwn.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Warnings: Nudity, implied sex, mirror sex, but don’t get too excited it’s just a lil bit at the end.  
Just Reader and James getting it on all over the place. That’s the whole chapter. 

(Y/N) 

She wakes in silken sheets. The sun was casting quite a glow through the room. She had to admit, his place was more her taste than her brothers’. Though she loved Sherlock’s clutter, and Mycroft’s collection. James’ had a more carefree class, and delicious excess. She could still taste the champagne on her skin.  
“Good morning, lover.”  
“James,” she smiles, he’s not far beside her, hair a mess, nearly as bare as her, except he had a computer on one knee, “You look good.”  
“You look like an oil painting.”  
She blushes. She hasn’t heard that one before.  
Her eyes narrow on the easel across the bed.  
“James…”  
“(Y/N)…”  
He leans in for a kiss. She allows him.  
“Did you have me painted?”  
“Can’t a man make memories?”  
“It better be good.”  
“Only the best for us.”  
Us?  
She bites her lip.  
“Does that mean we can have breakfast in bed?”  
“Of course, what else?” James scoffs before calling out, “Sebastian!”  
A man walks in with a board, not a tray but a board of food. All her favorites. Begian waffles, french toast, eggs benedict, heaps of homefries, strips of bacon, berries, cheeses, syrups, creams.  
“Holy hell!” she clutches at the sheets.  
“Language,” James scolds her.  
“How’d you know?”  
“You’re very loud about your food preferences on social media.”  
“Stalker,” she smirks.  
“Mine,” he growls, attacking her mouth.  
They kiss til she giggles.  
She presses a blueberry to his tongue, then cuts into the eggs benedict.  
“You know every time you open your mouth I think the most the vile things.”  
Given how her thoughts turned on her every time he spoke it seemed only fair.  
“Oh no,” she makes sure to pout around the word, then slowly, very slowly eats a chocolate covered strawberry.  
“You fucking tease,” he hisses, gripping her face in his hand, looking ready to kiss her til it hurts.  
“You bad man.”  
“You don’t seem to mind,” he arches a brow.  
“No,” she smiles, not much of a chance hiding that now, “But if you get between me and this food you’re going to be in big trouble.”  
He nuzzles her cheek, and his hand drops away.  
They go halfsies on the waffles and make a game of feeding each other berries. 

He’s got one arm bent under his head, lying languidly on the bed. Neither of them had yet to bother with clothes.  
“How would you like to go to a gala tonight? Be my date.”  
A gala?  
“I don’t have a dress.”  
She hadn’t packed much of anything. She had a number of clothes at Mycroft’s leftover from past stays.  
“Take your pick,” James waves a hand, racks of gowns slide into view, “They should all fit you. But adjustments can be made.”  
God, he’s so exorbitant. There had to be at least thirty gowns to choose from, all of them beautiful and doubtlessly expensive.  
“Only you would suggest a fitting after letting me eat all that.”  
“Letting you? You threatened me,” he pounces on her, hands closing tight around her wrists, “You brat.”  
“You brute,” she writhes beneath him.  
His eyes are alight as his knee edges between her thighs. 

There’s a fresh set of hickeys on her neck by the time she’s actually trying on gowns.  
She’s gotten quite attached to a number of them. And James was being very generous. She was allowed as many as she liked. But for the gala tonight she was leaning heavily towards the sheer gold gown that clung to her figure and dripped to the floor. She looked rather like a sexy flute of champagne. Or a mermaid. And it showed off the marks he left on her exceptionally well. Somehow she doubted he would want her covering those up. Possessive bastard.  
Speaking of.  
She watches his reflection sneak up on hers.  
His arms circle his waist and his mouth lands on her tender neck.  
He’s dressed now too. Another well fitted suit.  
“You look gorgeous darling,” he breathes into her ear, hands wandering.  
A now familiar bulge pressing into her ass.  
“I don’t think this is the kind of dress you can fuck me in.”  
Not that she wouldn’t like him to try. But this was a very well fitted gown. And she was very fond of it.  
“Oh, come on lover,” he grinds into her, “Where there’s a will there’s a way,” his hands slide down her thigh to tug up the skirt of the gown, “I think between the two of us, we can figure it out.”  
He licks a strip up her neck, her breath hitches.  
Well, she supposed, she could convinced. They did make such a lovely image.  
His hand roams between her thighs.  
His fingers curl.  
She gasps, nails digging into his arm.  
He lets out a delighted hiss and pushes in.  
She braces against the mirror. Her moans fog her face.  
There is only need.  
She needs more of him.  
And he takes, he takes.  
Thank god he’s such a greedy bastard.  
She must have said that aloud because he lets out a low chuckle and slams deep inside her. 

She misses three calls from her brother.


	9. Chapter 9

Greg Lestrade 

Sherlock was in a particularly weird headspace.  
He’d been staring at the board in silence ever since he’d put down his phone, palms pressed together to his lips. Sherlock never needed this long with any case before. Sure it was out of his depth. But Sherlock would be done with this twenty minutes ago.  
John had bags under his eyes. And had looked ready to strangle him for asking about the sister.  
Clearly, something was the matter.  
He’s mid sip with his coffee when she walks in.  
Wearing a floor length gown that hugged every curve.  
And here he’d assumed he wouldn’t be quite so surprised seeing her a second time. But she was even more eye-catching this time.  
She stops in front of Sherlock, who does not look at her.  
“I’m sorry, okay?”  
“You didn’t pick up.”  
Sherlock says with the indignant pout of a child.  
“I didn’t hear you.”  
“I called you three times,” he turns to her eyes flashing, “We said lunch.”  
“I know. I’m sorry,” she raises her hand, “I brought you a burrito.”  
He waves her hand aside.  
“Where have you been?”  
She shifts with the change of his tone.  
“Elsewhere, obviously.”  
Oh, so that’s where they resembled each other.  
“You said you were heading to Mycroft’s.”  
Sherlock sounds accusatory.  
“And I told you when changed my mind,” her eyes flash, her tone just as hard as his, “That is allowed.”  
“You missed plans you made with me. You never do that.”  
Sherlock suddenly sounds soft. And she matches him again. Eyes like a doe’s.  
“But I found you.”  
They turn to the board.  
Standing closer together now. Looking picturesque.  
Sherlock with his sharp lines, tall physique, upturned coat collar framing his cheekbones. His sister holding herself with the grace and poise of a goddess, dressed in gold.  
She tilts her head to the side.  
Sherlock stiffens.  
“You had sex.”  
He nearly drops his mug.  
“Wow,” she deadpans, “I’m so impressed you caught that.”  
Greg squints at her. Was it somehow obvious?  
“In this dress,” Sherlock continues, eyes trailing down her figure.  
Her lips part. And she looks begrudgingly impressed this time.  
“It’s a gown,” is all she says.  
Greg’s eyes widen.  
That was not a denial.  
Sherlock’s mouth flounders.  
“You look nice.”  
“Thanks.”  
They both look very tense.  
Sherlock takes a step closer, and sniffs.  
She gives him a withering glance.  
“You smell like champagne.”  
“Hmm.”  
Sherlock’s jaw clenches. He takes a step back, looks her up and down.  
She crosses her arms.  
He stands straighter. His eyes light up.  
She looks at him with growing alarm.  
“You’re involved with a criminal,” she stiffens, “Oh, I should have known. The signs were all there. You’re acting just like you did last time!”  
Last time? He and John share a look.  
“How on earth did I miss this?” Sherlock grasps at his curls.  
“Maybe you’re not as brilliant as you think you are.”  
“Must be a residual effect of your last girlfriend’s assassination attempt,” Sherlock snarks.  
Greg’s jaw drops along with John’s.  
“Maybe you should stop pissing so many people off so I don’t have to dump the next hot blonde who can eat pussy so fucking well,” she snarls, distinctly bitter.  
If his jaw could go any lower.  
“She tried to kill me!”  
“But did you die?”  
Greg is very grateful to have moved behind his desk. 

John Watson

So much for hoping she’d be a good influence.  
Jesus christ.  
They were certainly acting like siblings now.  
The familiar figure of Mycroft Holmes graces the doorway.  
“(Y/N), I was hoping to find you here.”  
She stiffens.  
Her mouth falls open. Eyes widen. She looks at Sherlock incredulous.  
“You told on me?”  
She gapes at him.  
“It’s for your own good, sister.”  
He says with such sharp superiority that even though John agrees with him he rather completely understands the seething glare that takes over her lovely face.  
She straightens.  
“Sherlock’s smoking again,” wait he’s WHAT.  
Sherlock gapes at her.  
That motherf-  
“It’s for your own good, brother,” her lip curls before she turns sharply away. 

(Y/N)

Mycroft was disappointed.  
Sure that’s usually just how his face was set. But she rarely ever had to feel his disappointment. Sherlock was usually the one that gave him trouble. But she had her moments.  
She kicks at the shitty carpet with her shoe.  
“This is becoming a rather bad habit of yours. First the motorcyclist,” that hardly counted it had lasted a week, “then that thief,” he was actually quite charming, and made Mycroft turn a funny color, it was all the puns probably, “a Russian spy,” he hisses, she was gorgeous, but that one had ended rather badly, “and now you’re dating a criminal mastermind!”  
So he knew then. Of course Mycroft would know by now. She shouldn’t have assumed otherwise. Especially with Sherlock’s big fat mouth.  
“Well, at least no one can say I’m not ambitious.”  
His mouth does not curve in the slightest.  
“You certainly are making an alarming progression. If only you were so inclined with your academic achievements.”  
“Mycroft!”  
He knew she could give a shit about that.  
“If what you want is our attention all you need to do is ask. You know I would make time for you.”  
Jesus, that was hardly why! Maybe back then with stereotypical bad boy, who was arguable too old for her. Sherlock was off in college and Mycroft had left for the government and she was stuck in high school feeling rather neglected. It had worked very well. Maybe even too well.  
But James was different.  
“Can’t I just like him?”  
Mycroft frowns.  
“It’s much more concerning if that’s the case,” she shuffles, maybe it was, “I realize certain qualities don’t raise red flags with you. If anything they seem to excite you further,” he sighs, clearly miserable about it, “But he is rather obsessed with our brother. That doesn’t concern you?”  
“It’s come up.”  
They’d talked about that rather early on.  
“And?”  
“We have an understanding.”  
“And you trust him not to go too far?”  
“I’d kill him.”  
“What good would that do if our brother’s dead?”  
She breathes sharply in.  
Did he really think that’s where James was heading?  
Mycroft reaches for her face. His motion robotic, but his palm is soft. He presses a calculated kiss to her cheek. Quick, but gentle enough to be sweet. His retreat stutters as his hand moves and brushes back her hair. She’d covered the hickeys very well. No normal person would notice. But her brothers were not normal people. He doesn’t comment on it. But stands even stiffer when he straightens.  
“You look very pretty.”  
“You look well, too.”  
He nods, there’s a shadow of a smile there. It has been a while since she’d seen him.  
He turns to go.  
“Think about what I said.”  
She doesn’t think she could think of much else.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexual undertones (overtones?), threats, strong language, implied sex, angst

Jim Moriarty 

“You’re not having a good time.”  
They always have a good time. He’d gotten rather attached to her smile. He hadn’t realized how much until now that she stopped.  
She’s shimmering.  
An absolute vision.  
Surely one visit with her brothers hadn’t soured what they had.  
But something had changed. 

“I should lock you up.”  
He corners her the bathroom.  
“You could,” she dries her hands, “Wouldn’t be a very elegant solution. Certainly wouldn’t be the same,” she turns to face him, leaning against the marble counter.  
He scowls.  
“What would that matter?,” he stalks closer, “I could have you however I like, whenever I like. I could dangle you from the ceiling with your legs spread wide.”  
Her lashes flutter, but she’s otherwise unmoved.  
“If all you wanted was a cunt I’m sure that would satisfy you. But you want me.”  
It’s rather infuriating to have someone who can call his bluff. For someone to even make him bluff.  
“Don’t.”  
“You really want the win with an unfair advantage?”  
“I really don’t care. You’re not going anywhere.”  
He cages her between his arms.  
“Well, you’re not going to kill me. And you’re not going to lock me up. So unless you're going to break my arms and legs I don’t see how you plan on keeping me.”  
He considers it briefly. But finds the idea of damaging her distasteful.  
“(Y/N).”  
“Jim.”  
He twitches at the change.  
She always called him James.  
And so sweetly.  
His hands clench against the cold marble.  
“If you go I’ll kill him,” he says with venom that’s brought men to their knees.  
“If you kill him I’ll never be yours.”  
Her glare is piercing.  
“I will not go easy on you.”  
The deal is off the second she walks away.  
“Good,” her hands glide down his suit, past his belt, “I like you hard.”  
He bucks against her.  
Teeth clenched to the point of pain.  
“I won’t beg.”  
“I won’t stay.”  
She whispers along the line of his jaw.  
He sighs.  
He so loathed losing.  
His hand curls around her throat. He wants her bruised and stained and completely incapable of forgetting him.  
He wants to make her hurt.  
“Won’t you miss me?”  
She kisses him in answer. Which is so far from fair. Naughty, naughty girl.  
He’s so furious with her.  
They tear into each other.  
His hands claw at her gown, tears through her hair.  
She pulls at his suit, his tie, his belt.  
They’re both panting, greedy animals. 

When she walks away her skin is a marked with his teeth many times over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this might have actual plot now. Or soon anyway. Plot means drama, drama means angst, so I’m gonna add that tag.  
> There’s also some sexual stuff and strong language (bc Moriarty) But I think I’m going to keep the Teen rating for now bc it is mostly fluff at the moment and I have warnings at the start of chapters if there is anything worth warning. I think that’s fine. But if anyone has complaints I will change the rating.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock Holmes

“Kill you? Oh no don’t be obvious,” Moriarty grimaces, “I mean I’m going to kill you anyways someday. I don’t want to rush it though. I’m saving it for something special. No no no if you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you. I’ll burn the HEART out of you.”  
“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”  
“But we both know that’s not quite true.”

It’s not the way Moriarty snarls out the threat that keeps him up. Though it is unnerving watching his face change from soft to vicious and back to soft again.   
It’s the way he smiles at the end, smug and knowing that makes him worry. 

But when he palms the side of the bed she’s not there. 

She is actually staying with Mycroft now. And likely safer. And he’s happy about that. Less so about her absence.  
John’s certainly getting nostalgic.   
Probably because he’s given up wearing pants.  
He doesn’t really see the point of any of that. His sheet is perfectly sufficient.   
His mouth quirks imagining her reaction.   
She quite liked it when he did silly things. 

John whines through the screen. Something about humiliation.   
But it’s only a six.   
Hardly of interest.   
This however, Sherlock looks the man up and down, might be interesting.   
But that didn’t mean he was going to get dressed.

Mycroft’s glowering at him, already disappointed.   
He’d like to ask about her. But it’s easier to just fall into their usual antagonistic banter.   
Surely, she’s forgiven him.  
Though she could hold grudges, too.   
But she’s never mad for very long.   
“Will you take the case?”  
“What case?” he scoffs, “Pay her, now and in full. As Ms. Adler remarks in her masthead, ‘Know when you are beaten’.”  
He turns to reach for his overcoat.   
All this fanfare and it wound up being a bore.   
“She doesn’t want anything.”  
Sherlock stops and turns back.  
“She got in touch, informed us that the photographs existed, and indicated she had no intention to use them to extort money or favor.”  
“Oh,” that was interesting, “a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix.”  
God, (Y/N) would love this.  
He grins. 

“You look like you’ve been mauled.”   
“Thanks.”  
Sherlock bites his tongue. He had actually meant to be charming. But seeing her threw him off guard.   
“Sorry. You don’t look well.”  
She really didn’t. She wasn’t even bothering with those patterned kimonos she loved so much, just a too large shapeless sweater that fell off her shoulder and highlighted those obscene purple bruises all over her neck. He wouldn’t be surprised if they extended to her chest. But it’s really her eyes that give away her emotional state. She’s always had expressive eyes.   
“Bad breakup?”  
“What you don’t already know?” she snaps at him, dead gaze sharpening into a glare, “Mycroft doesn’t keep you updated?”  
“You know I was only worried.”  
He hadn’t done the wrong thing.   
She had. And not for the first time.   
But he is sorry to have upset her.   
“Well, you shouldn’t have been,” she sighs, “He and I were on fine terms.”  
“Were?”  
“Well, I did just leave him.”  
She crosses her arms.  
“And he hurt you?”  
The marks were extensive and deep. He could probably get dental records off a few of them.   
“We had rough sex,” she states, blunt as ever, “He’s got marks, too.”   
“I see.”   
Then he probably wasn’t much better off.   
She could use a distraction. And he could use her company. Sherlock licks his lips. Tempting her he could manage. He’d only done it all his life.   
“Mycroft wants me on a case. Wanna join? You would like this one.”  
“Would I?”   
She side eyes him. Not on the hook quite yet.   
“A dominatrix is blackmailing the royal family.”  
She blinks.   
And shifts.   
A light in her eyes now.  
“Of course Myc would hide that from me!”  
“Well, he wouldn’t want you getting any ideas. You do tend to misbehave.”   
“This coming from you.”  
They were both rather badly behaved.  
“I am your favorite for a reason.”  
She lets out a breathy chuckle much to his delight.   
So did you leave him for me?   
He’s itching to ask. But he’s only just managed to tease out a smile.   
He moves instead to cover up the scattered purple bruising across her chest.  
He stops.   
“Actually, given our audience. It might be in our best interest if you wear something revealing.”

(Y/N)

“Whoring me out?” she smirks, “That’s frowned upon.”  
Though she’s not entirely surprised he would consider it. He’s already invested in this one she can tell. And advantages are meant to be taken advantage of.   
“Of course not!” Sherlock denies, “Just using you as a distraction,” that certainly sounded better, “Enhancing your natural gifts,” he waves at her chest, that less so, “It’s for a case,” he finishes his argument, moving past her, “Something pink,” he mutters, sifting through her closet.   
He pauses at the thirty gowns.   
James had sent them over.   
Mycroft had them checked vigorously and found nothing.   
And she just couldn’t bear to throw them away.   
She tenses, but Sherlock doesn’t say anything.   
“This will do.”  
He tosses a handful of silk at her.   
She stares at the lace detailed silk slip dangling from her fingers.  
“This is lingerie.”  
“You’ll make it work.”  
She sighs, exasperated.   
Sure she would go along with him. But it would be nice if he didn’t just assume.   
“What’s your costume then?”


	12. Chapter 12

John Watson 

“A priest and a....” John blanks as he takes in what little her silk slip covers, “Well, that’s just....”   
His gaze lingers over her chest, her hickey ridden chest.   
She looked dangerously tantalizing.   
“What do you even need me for?”  
They seemed like they had this covered. The both of them looking perfectly calm.   
“You’re nice.”  
(Y/N) shrugs.   
“We like you.”  
Sherlock adds.   
“And you’re partners,” she nods at him and Sherlock, “I’m the extra.”  
“Well,” John blinks, still flustered by her get-up, that couldn’t possibly be necessary, “you certainly...”  
He trails off mid-thought just about the millionth time.   
“Oh this?” she looks down, fingering the lace edge of her slip, “Sherlock picked this.”  
“WHat?!”  
Just WHAT!?  
“She’s meant to be distracting,” Sherlock looks her over with clinical detachment, in character yet utterly incomprehensible, “I would say she’s succeeded. You can’t even finish a sentence.”  
“I- that’s not! You can’t just-”  
“Very good. Let’s get on then.”

(Y/N)

Well, the woman certainly knew how to make an entrance. (Y/N) stares at her nude figure with raised brows as Sherlock flounders.   
“Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fright, isn’t it?”   
Irene smirks, walking into the room and stands directly in front of him. She straddles his legs and half-kneeling on the sofa reaches and pulls the white dog collar from his shirt.  
”There – now we’re both defrocked …” she smiles down at him, “... Mr Sherlock Holmes.”  
”Miss Adler, I presume.”  
“Look at those cheekbones,” Irene gazes at his face, “I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?”  
Her sharp blue eyes flit over his face before narrowing. She lifts the dog collar to her mouth and bites down.   
Sherlock stares up at her in confusion.   
(Y/N) in open admiration.   
”I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”   
John blinks at the scene from the doorway.   
Irene takes the collar from her teeth.  
”Please, sit down.”  
She steps back from Sherlock, who fidgets as she walks away.   
Hmm.   
So he does have a type.   
“Can I get you anything, darling?”   
The woman shifts her attentions to her.   
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she cracks a smile, “I’m just here for the show.”   
It always a pleasure to see Sherly get flustered.  
“Is that all?” the woman pouts, sliding a hand up her knee, “Pity,” her eyes darken, “You are such a pretty sight.”   
Sherlock tenses beside her.   
“You always look with your hands, Miss Adler?”  
“Is he always so possessive?”   
Irene smiles slyly at her.   
“We’re not together.”  
People do seem to make that mistake quite often.   
“Not a couple maybe,” Irene’s eyes flit between the two of them, “but you are together. Just look how he tenses when I touch you.”  
She doesn’t get a chance to dwell on the familiarity of the insinuation as the woman’s hand makes its way up her thigh, fingers brushing against the lace edge of her slip.   
“...He worries.”  
“Jealous type?”  
Sometimes.   
“He knows I’m trying to quit the criminally attractive type.”  
Her traitorous mind jumps to James.   
“Then why bring you here?”  
The woman smirks. Her red lips are thin but her sharpness has appeal. Everything about her has appeal. (Y/N) certainly wouldn’t push her away.   
“To tease you I imagine.”  
It was working well enough. The woman leans closer in, hand slipping under her slip.   
She hears John take a sharp breath in.   
She stays still.   
“Don’t you mind being used?”   
“Do you?”  
Is it easier for her to make everything about sex?   
“Hmm,” the woman pulls back, settling in the chair in her brother’s coat, and looks back to him, “How was it done? The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?”  
”That’s not why I’m here.”  
”No, no, you’re here for the photographs but that’s never gonna happen, and since we’re here just chatting anyway …Well, I like detective stories,” Irene crosses her legs, “and detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.”  
(Y/N)’s almost offended by the back and forth. What is it with criminals and flirting?   
Oh well, she might be swayed, but Sherlock would never-  
“Positionofthecar …” Sherlock mutters barely coherent. 

Irene Adler 

The girl glares sharply at him.   
So she’s possessive of him, too.   
How fun.  
Irene bites her lip.   
“Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head is all you need to know.”  
“Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?”  
”He wasn’t.”  
”You don’t think it was murder?”  
”I know it wasn’t.”  
”How?”  
”The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.”  
”Okay,” she blinks, she shouldn’t be surprised, she knew he was good, “but how?”  
”So they are in this room,” he smirks down at her, “Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in.”  
The two share a look significant enough to mean something that should concern her.   
She glances over at the girl, but her face tells her little besides the fact that she’s annoyed with him.   
Not together her ass.   
John leaves, closing the door behind him. She sits up straighter. But Sherlock simply resumes his pacing.   
“Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car.”  
”Oh. I – I thought you were looking for the photos now.”  
”No, no. Looking takes ages. I’m just going to find them but you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment, so let’s pass the time.”  
She blinks at the backhanded compliment.   
He stops and turns to her.   
”Two men, a car, and nobody else.”  
”I don’t understand.”  
“Oh, well, try to.”  
”Why?”  
He could just tell her.   
“Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It’s the new sexy.”

(Y/N)

There he is. (Y/N) smirks.   
At least he wasn’t being completely out of character just because the woman had appeal.   
”The car’s going to backfire.”   
Irene answers.   
”There’s going to be a loud noise.”  
”So, what?”  
She huffs. It was rather obvious. Sherlock meets her gaze, eyes glinting.   
”Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance …”  
He pauses dramatically. The smoke alarm starts to beep. The woman turns and looks to the mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock follows her gaze.   
“Thank you,” she wonders if he could looks less smug if he wanted to, “On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.”  
He’s such a show off. But it is fun to watch him work.   
Sherlock walks over to the fireplace and runs his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. The mirror slides up, revealing a wall safe. Sherlock turns to looks at Irene as she stands up.  
”Really hope you don’t have a baby in here.”


	13. Chapter 13

John Watson

(Y/N) leans against their wall. Now dressed in clothes he could actually look her in the eye in. Not that it matters. She’s busy glaring at both her brothers.   
“Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft?” Sherlock seethes, “CIA-trained killers at an excellent guess,” his scowl deepens, “Would have been nice to know before you sent us there.”  
“You weren’t supposed to bring our sister into it.”  
Mycroft bites back, his usual scowl etched deep.   
“Myc!” she gasps, stepping off the wall, “That’s not a good answer!”  
“Yeah, what the hell!”  
John exclaims from the couch…and is ignored.   
Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting with the three of them in this state. They didn’t pay him much mind when things weren’t so dramatic.   
But it sort of always was dramatic with them.   
“I apologize for not informing you,” Mycroft’s apology sounds pained to say the least, “But I did say it was urgent. And you weren’t even supposed to know about the case let alone be there.”  
Mycroft looks to her before glaring accusingly at Sherlock.   
(Y/N) rolls her eyes, raking back her hair.  
It’s a very Sherlock motion. And like all their shared quirks extremely unnerving to see in action.   
“You know he’s bound to tell me anything interesting.”   
“Well, he shouldn’t!”  
Mycroft’s usual frown deepens.   
“But he does. And you know that. And I cannot believe I have to be the one to tell you that if you know about extra danger, he needs to know about that going in!” she near growls at him, “You hypocrite!”   
“...Apologies.”  
Mycroft manages with difficulty. But he actually sounds genuine this time.   
She really has an interesting effect on the both them.  
Sherlock for example was looking beyond smug.  
“What are you so happy about?” she snaps at him, his smirk slides off, “You lost it. It was in your hand.”  
She reminds him, sounding equally disappointed.   
“She drugged and flogged me!”  
“What kind of excuse is that? You’re supposed to be good at this.”  
Whoa.   
John sips his tea.   
“It’s only a minor setback.”  
Sherlock rears back, crossing his arms.   
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she mirrors his action, “I don’t recall you ever tripping over your own words before.”  
Now that he thought about he’d never heard Sherlock stutter before. And his chemistry with the woman was rather undeniable.   
“Tripping over?”   
Mycroft raises a brow.   
“Hardly!” Sherlock scoffs, “You were the one practically presenting yourself to her.”  
He waves his hand accusingly.  
“Like you had planned?”   
She fires back.   
Mycroft’s brows go higher.   
John manages for once to remain stoic. This bit he’d already processed.   
“My plan was for you to distract her,” Sherlock clarifies, “not the other way around. Your eyes were about ready to pop out.”  
“You’re one to talk,” she arches a brow, “you were looking the same places I was.”  
The pass code did sort of prove that.   
“For the case-”   
Sherlock stresses.   
“That you fucked up.”   
She reminds him.   
“Don’t get overexcited.”  
He scolds, back to scowling.   
His phones moans.  
…Well…that’s just good timing.   
“I don’t think I’m the one getting overexcited,” she snarls before turning sharply to Mycroft, “I think he should be taken off the case.”  
“That’s hardly necessary.”  
Sherlock of course takes personal offense to the mere suggestion.   
“What are you going to do then?” she turns back to him, “Sext your way into getting that phone again? I’d be intrigued by the effort,” he would be too, “but let’s face it that’s a waste of time no matter how persistent she is,” (Y/N) grinds her teeth as Sherlock’s phone moans again, “She’s just playing with us now. ”

Sherlock Holmes

He wasn’t denying that.  
The woman clearly loved to play games.   
But-  
“What else does she have?” he turns to Mycroft, “The Americans wouldn’t be interested in some compromising photographs. There’s more. Much more,” if it weren’t for the drugs he’d surely seen it sooner, “Something big is coming, isn’t it?”  
Mycroft says nothing. But his face is telling enough.   
Even if it’s no more sour than usual.   
(Y/N) can see it too he can tell from the way her gaze sharpens.  
But it quickly dulls.  
“Oh why bother?” she sighs loud, “He didn’t tell you about the Americans he’s definitely not going to tell you what they’re after. You haven’t exactly proven yourself to be trustworthy,” she nags him again, “dragging me into things.”  
“Dragging. Really?” he had to object to that, she was obviously just as interested in the endeavor, and god knows there’s no making her do much of anything, “I had no idea I had that kind of power.”   
She glares darkly at him before stomping off to his room and slamming the door.   
There’s a click.   
“Did you just lock yourself in my room?”  
And she thinks he’s the dramatic one.   
Honestly!   
“Leave her, you know it’s better she sleep off her rage.”  
Mycroft reminds him.   
Their sweet little sister could be very troublesome if she felt vindictive. She was not above bringing their parents into it if it served her enough. And she knew just how to weaponize being the youngest and the only girl.   
“It’s not all on me.”  
That’s about as much as he’s willing to admit.   
“No…” Mycroft agrees, “but it’s not all on me either. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.”  
Maybe he could take Mycroft more seriously if his face wasn’t so annoying.   
“Do give her my love.”  
He picks up his violin and plays his brother out.  
“God Save the Queen” echos through the flat as Mycroft takes his leave.


	14. Chapter 14

(Y/N) 

it’s Christmas. It’s snowing. Fairy lights are strung up all around.   
She’s sitting curled up on the couch as Sherlock walks around playing his violin.   
It’s all very festive.  
He finishes with a flourish. Lestrade whistles in appreciation.  
“Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!” Mrs. Hudson claps.  
”Marvellous!” John chimes in.   
Sherlock gives a small bow. Mrs Hudson, giggles up at him.  
”I wish you could have worn the antlers!” She coos.  
”Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock winks.  
(Y/N) boos.   
They could have matched.   
John’s date walks over with a tray of food.   
“No thank you, Sarah,” Sherlock says deceivingly polite.  
She gives him a warning look.   
”Uh, no, no, no, no, no,” John rushes over, “He’s not good with names.”  
“No-no-no, I can get this,” John’s date has the sense to look grim, “No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?”  
Oh god.  
”Nobody.”   
”Jeanette!” Sherlock exclaims, grinning falsely at her, ”Ah, process of elimination.”  
“Could you be more of jealous boyfriend?” She stands just to hiss at him as John shepherds Jeanette away.   
Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks to the door, ”Oh, dear Lord.”  
“Be nice.”   
She implores him as Molly joins them.   
”Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door just to come up.”  
They all go around greeting her.   
”Oh, everybody’s saying hullo to each other. How wonderful!”  
”Molly, it’s so nice of you to join us.”  
“Oh, I’m happy to be here!” she beams, “I love your antlers.”  
“Thanks! Sherlock refused to wear his,” she purses her lips, “Apparently, he won’t just do things I tell him to.”  
She glowers at him.   
He glowers back. 

“Is there a (Y/N) here?”  
They all turn sharply back to the door to see a delivery man. How odd, on Christmas. Suspicion curls through her. She looks him carefully over. But he really did seem like a normal delivery man.   
“Yes. That’s me.”  
“Right, this is for you.”  
He hauls over the massive package.   
“Who sent this?” Sherlock asks, staring him down.  
The guy shrugs. It not his job to know.   
She pulls at the edge. She could guess who it was from. She only knew so many people.   
She’s more curious of what it is.  
The box falls open.  
“Oh my goodness!”  
Molly drops the drink Lestrade just handed her.  
There’s a rather collective ripple of shock.  
It was that painting of her.   
The nude.   
Honestly, it was rather tasteful. It could have been worse. He’s known for worse.   
She tilts her head. Staring blankly at the image.   
“You can leave now.”  
Sherlock snarls at the delivery boy before dragging him out.  
She pulls off the note on the corner. 

Thinking of you <3 Jim

Hmm. Not James.   
Not nice.   
“How thoughtful,” Sherlock yanks the note out of her hand, “I had no idea you were still talking.”  
“We’re not.”   
She glares at him, as if it wasn’t obvious.   
Like he wouldn’t have noticed if she were considering how very vigilant he’d been once it became clear which criminal it was she’d had relations with.   
And so very judgmental.   
“You know this is as much for you as it is for me.”   
Because of course it is. He loves a reaction.   
And he was getting one.   
Sherlock scowls.  
“Yes, you really know how to pick them.”  
She bares her teeth.   
He was not seriously going to do this right fucking now.   
An orgasmic sigh fills the room.   
Molly gasps.   
“Oh, I know how to pick them?” She glares up at him, crossing her arms, ”That’s fifty-seven.”   
The Woman really was persistent.   
”Thrilling that you’ve been counting.”  
Sherlock looks at the message.  
”What is it?”  
She notes the change in his face, curiosity driving out his anger.   
Sherlock doesn’t answer just goes to the mantelpiece and picks up a small box wrapped in red paper. He stops for a second too long.   
“’Scuse me,” He walks toward the kitchen.  
She moves to follow him, the painting forgotten.   
”What – what’s up, Sherlock?” John stops him, sensing the same change.   
“I said excuse me,” Sherlock continues walking.   
”Do you ever reply?” She calls out.   
Sherlock ignores her and goes to his room.   
She frowns.   
Annoying as his attention could be, it felt worse somehow to be the less interesting thing. 

Sherlock Holmes

“Oh dear Lord,” Mycroft answers the phone, “We’re not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?”  
“I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.”  
He stares down at the phone.   
At her “life”.  
”We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.”  
”No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.”

He ends the call.  
“You okay?” John asks, badly eavesdropping by the door.  
”Yes.”  
He pushes the door close. 

John Watson

John looks back (Y/N) now frowning out the window while Sherlock sulked in his room.   
Nice of them to sync up.

Mycroft Holmes

“Just the one.”   
Mycroft offers the cigarette over his brother’s shoulder.  
“Why?”   
“Merry Christmas.”  
Sherlock takes it.  
“Smoking indoors,” Sherlock murmurs, “isn’t there one of those law things?”  
“We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.”   
Sherlock looks round at the sound of sobbing. A family of three stood on the other side of the doors at the end of the hall, huddled together, clearly grieving.   
“Look at them. They all care so much…Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?”  
“All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”  
As much as they loved their sister. She was a liability as much as she was a treasure. Sherlock was a liability, too. Though that was easier to remember. Sherlock’s not as cute.  
Sherlock blows out another heap of smoke, then regards the cigarette in disgust.  
“This is low tar.”  
“Well, you barely knew her.”  
”Huh,” Sherlock turns, they had spoken long enough, “Merry Christmas, Mycroft.”  
“And a happy New Year.”  
He watches as Sherlock continues down the hall, flicking the ash to the floor as he goes.

“He’s on his way. Have you found anything?”  
“No,” sister dearest sighs through the phone, “Did he take the cigarette?”  
“Yes.”  
“Shit…well, it looks like he’s clean.”   
That was as good as certainty coming from her.   
But just to be sure.   
“You’ll watch him?”  
“I know what to do Myc,” she says a bit sharply before softening her tone, “Don’t worry.”  
He always worries. 

Sherlock Holmes 

Sherlock scans his room. Eyes gliding quickly over her spread out on the bed flipping through some magazine to his dresser.   
She had a softer touch than John at least.   
“I hope you didn’t mess up my sock index.”   
He sits down on his side of the bed.   
The painting was now in his room, facing the wall. Now just the back end of a canvas. But still it loomed large.   
“Are you okay?”  
“Well,” she sighs, “mine isn’t dead.”  
He doesn’t appreciate the implication. But there’s just no arguing with her sometimes.  
“No, unfortunately not,” he mutters under his breath.   
“I thought about burning it,” she tells him, “Just to be spiteful-He’s obviously not being very mature. But…”  
She trails off.  
“But what?”  
“I don’t know…Maybe I’m just that vain.”  
She says it dismissively as she moves to turn off the light.   
Darkness was better for distance maybe. And it wasn’t like she was actually reading that magazine.   
He doesn’t know what she’s still doing here. She usually flittered off someplace else when things got difficult.   
They didn’t have to do this thing.   
And yet, she curls into his side as she always does. Soft and warm and familiar.   
He breathes deeply in.   
She smells of cinnamon, and sugar.  
“You reek.”  
“So do you,” she says accusingly.   
“Oh please,” he rolls his eyes, “it was low tar.”  
“Just go to sleep.”


	15. Chapter 15

Some months later.  
221B.   
Sherlock reaches the top of the stairs and stops abruptly outside the kitchen door.   
He sniffs deeply.   
Taking a few more deep breaths, he turns and looks into the kitchen, then walks to the window.   
It's open.   
He starts slowly towards his bedroom just as the downstairs door slams and feet come up the stairs. Reaching his room, he pushes the door open as John comes into the kitchen with bags of groceries.   
Sherlock stares into his room.  
“We have a client.”  
”What, in your bedroom?” John walks closer, his jaw drops when he sees the bed, “Oh.”  
Irene, fully clothed, is asleep in Sherlock’s bed.

“You can’t trust her.”  
She's cross, arms twisted like branches. They're facing each other in the living room as the woman sleeps.   
“I don’t.”  
He nearly rolls his eyes. He's somewhat offended by her lack of faith.   
“You might,” she chews on her lip, “She’s clever, you said so yourself,” he tears his gaze from her lips to take in her raised brow, “She’s gorgeous, too.”  
“Moderately clever,” he sighs, correcting her, “And I never said anything about her looks.”   
Even if he had noticed, he wasn't stupid enough to mention.   
“But you do have eyes.”  
She scowls, looking away.  
He appraises her, narrowing his eyes.  
“It’s starting to sound like you’re the one who's comprised.”  
Her head snaps back, eyes meeting his in a glare.  
“Then you should definitely be wary. I am known for my bad taste. And we should at least try to make different mistakes.”  
“Cocaine's not different enough for you?” she glowers at him, he twists his neck away, “I don’t have your penchant for criminals.”  
“That may be. But I don’t recall you ever getting flustered.”  
She's not seriously bringing that up again!  
“Don’t exaggerate-”  
“You know I’m not.” She cuts him off.   
He looks at her, really looks at her. Her eyes, her stance, her pout.   
She's never been one to nag so much. That was everyone elses job. Mostly Mycroft.  
“Are you...jealous?”  
She looks down, foot digging into the carpet.   
“...Should I be?”  
“No.”   
He assures her immediately and almost regrets giving up the rare opportunity.   
But he never could stand to see her unhappy.   
“It’s not a competition. You’re my sister.”  
Her arms unravel, and she moves closer to him.   
“Would you just...be careful?”   
She implores him.   
It's not as if he was planning to be reckless.   
He doesn't think he could stand this much blabber from anyone else. Not on a case like this. He hasn't been this excited in-  
He hasn't been this excited. 

There's a sound of the woman stirring. She turns to glare at the bedroom door.   
Her arms crossed again.   
“And get her something to eat. The poor woman’s always starving.”  
She grabs her bag and moves to leave.   
“Don’t tell Mycroft.”   
He would just get in the way.   
She stops at the door.   
“Don’t do anything stupid.” 

-

He never asks anything easy of her does he?  
She glowers at her cup of coffee.   
She'd picked a particularly dark corner to avoid offending the barista, and sulks.   
~Don't tell Mycroft~  
Her phone burns a hole in her pocket. But this was just the sort of thing she should tell Myc.  
It was most irregular.   
But Sherlock was always making things so difficult for her. Does he have any idea what it's like stuck between the two of them?  
And wasn't The Woman supposed to be dead?  
She'd been sorry about that.   
She's less sorry now.   
She grinds her teeth as she drags her spoon through her cup.   
Irene had had him mourning for her an everything!  
Her brother!  
Hers. 

Not that she's jealous.   
It's not a competition.   
He'd said so. 

She's his sister. 

She groans.   
Of course he wouldn't even consider not helping. Damsel in distress, and such a thrilling mystery.  
So infuriating.   
She just knew she couldn't stand to sit through the hell of them talking again.   
It didn't help that The Woman in her elegance and sexual energy reminded her so much of-

“You left him alone?”

She freezes at the sound of his voice.   
His delicious, terrible voice.   
She'd only dreamed of it constantly. Played it through her head.   
She never got it right, though.   
Nothing like the real thing. Imagination can only do some much, even a mind like hers. 

She stares eyes wide as a deer in the headlights as he sits down across from her. His knee knocks into hers.   
It was a small table.   
It felt even smaller now that it was the only thing between her and Jim Moriarty.   
He was as well dressed as ever. And handsome. Hair combed neat and suave. He looked well.   
Other than the circles under his eyes.   
But she had those, too.   
A draw then.   
Figures she wouldn't win this either. It just wasn't her day.   
But it's not losing just because Sherlock can't let go of a case. When can he ever?   
It still felt like losing.   
Jim's smirk only grows as her silence stretches.   
She winces internally.   
How pathetic could she get?   
He'd asked her a question. Surely, she could answer a simple goddamn question. 

“John's still there.”  
Sherlock wasn't alone. He's never alone.   
She just wasn't with him was all.   
She somewhat regrets leaving now.   
She stares at his perfect suit. His perfect hair.   
It was the first time they'd seen each other since it was over.   
But was it really if he still thought of her and she still thought of him?   
Maybe over isn't the right word, even if it should be.

“You do think highly of him don't you?”  
She can tell from his tone he doesn't mean Watson. 

“Why wouldn't I?”  
She crosses her arms.   
Sherlock has always maintained a place above everyone else. Charming as their affair had been, he could only come so close.   
Jim smiles.   
“Did you like my present? I almost regret giving it up.”  
“Oh?”  
Somehow, she doubts that.   
“My imagination can only do so much,” he pouts, “Such a shame we never had the chance to make a video.”

His phone vibrates.   
“Oh would you look at that?”  
Jim grins as he looks at the text.   
A shiver rolls down her spine. Whatever it was it couldn't be good if he was so damn pleased-  
“Looks like your brother is a man after all.”

What  
The   
Fuck does that mean?  
Her nails scrape the table.   
She feels like string stretched to snapping.   
Jim watches her twitch with a smile.   
She was being pathetically open with her emotions.   
He leans in, smirk etched in deep and malicious. 

“What does it say about you and Sherly that another woman would cause such... chaos in your heart?”  
He purrs low and sinister in her ear. His hand curving around her thigh. Fingers inching up the opening of her skirt.  
She grinds her teeth, rigid in her anger.   
He really knows just what to say, doesn't he? The bastard. 

He's not the only one who's got a way with words.   
She turns to him, closer as though she might kiss him.   
His lashes flutter.  
She runs her hand over his cheek. 

“Would you feel better about me leaving you if I was fucking him?”   
She says through her sweetest smile.   
His eyes flash.   
His fingers dig harshly into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. 

“You should be nicer to me,” he says through gritted teeth, “Once I decimate your brothers. Who will you have but me?”

“Myc-”  
“I know.”  
“How bad?”  
Her heart shudders and pounds and drop to her stomach in his silence.   
“...Stay where you are. I'll send someone for you.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock

Sherlock sits in his armchair gently plucking the strings of his violin. In his mind he hears Mycroft’s phone call.  
~Bond Air is go. Check with the Coventry lot.~  
“Coventry.”

“I’ve never been. Is it nice?”  
It's Irene, sitting across from him in John's chair. She looks comfortable snuggled in the chair, wearing his dressing gown.   
“Where’s John?”  
“He went out a couple of hours ago.”  
Irene informs him, watching him closely. Her loose curls were dry now. Day had turned to night. The only light was coming from the fireplace filling their flat with an orange glow.   
He frowns. That couldn't be right.  
“I was just talking to him.”  
“He said you do that,” Irene smiles, then asks, “What’s Coventry got to do with anything?”  
“It’s a story, probably not true. In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they’d broken the German code but they didn’t want the Germans to know that they’d broken the code, so they let it happen anyway.”  
“Have you ever had anyone?”  
“Sorry?”  
His frown deepens.   
He stares at the Woman.  
“And when I say “had,” I’m being indelicate.”  
She smiles coyly.   
“I don’t understand.”  
“Well, I’ll be delicate then.”  
Irene sets her tea aside and gets up from the chair to kneel before him.  
“Let's have dinner.”  
She places her hand over his.   
“Why?”  
“Might be hungry.”   
She shrugs.   
“I’m not.”  
He's never hungry.  
“Good.”  
That made less sense. Hesitantly, he sits slightly forward and curls his fingers around her wrist.  
“Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry?”  
Irene comes closer still, and he's aware, more than ever before of her appeal.   
“Oh, Mr. Holmes...” her voice is soft, her gaze fixed on his lips, “... if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?”  
He rubs the pads of his fingers against the tender flesh of her wrist, against her pulse.   
...If it was the end of the world..  
It did feel almost like it could be, the flat has never looked like this, never felt like this, perhaps it was the end of the world.   
Was this was she had been so worried about? 

“Sherlock!”  
His eyes slide to the door at the sound of Mrs. Hudson calling up the stairs.

“Too late,” Irene says ruefully, pulling away.  
“That’s not the end of the world; that’s Mrs Hudson.”  
But Irene is already walking away as Mrs Hudson comes in with none other than Plummer from the Palace.  
Sherlock rolls his eyes.   
“Have you come to take me away again?”  
“Yes, Mr Holmes.”  
“Well, I decline.”  
“I don’t think you do.”  
Plummer offers him an envelope.  
Sherlock snatches it, inside is a boarding pass in his name for flight 007 to Baltimore, scheduled to leave at 18.30.

Mycroft

“What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead.”  
Sherlock takes a moment to answer, still taking it all in.  
“The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies.”  
“Neat, don’t you think?” Sherlock smiles humorlessly, “You’ve been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern?”  
Mycroft watches as understanding flashes over his brother's face as he recalls all the strange things that now made sense. All those cases he didn't find interesting.  
“How’s the plane going to fly?” Sherlock answers himself immediately, “Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new.”  
“It doesn’t fly. It will never fly.” Mycroft allows his irritation to bleed through, “This entire project is canceled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished.  
“Your MOD man.”  
“That’s all it takes: one lonely naive man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.”  
“Hmm.”   
Sherlock quirks a brow, still casual in his stance. He still didn't get it.  
“You should screen your defence people more carefully.”  
“I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock,” Mycroft slams the tip of his umbrella against the floor, in a rare show of anger, but he had every reason to be, “I’m talking about you.” Sherlock frowns, genuinely confused. “The damsel in distress,” he sneers around the word, “In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ... ” his voice drops to a whisper as he twirls the end of his umbrella in the air, “ ... and watch him dance.  
“Don’t be absurd.”  
“Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?”  
“I think it was less than five seconds.”  
Irene answers from behind Sherlock. She's standing at the end of the cabin, dressed beautifully, fully made up, hair perfectly coiffured. This is The Woman at her immaculate best.  
She walks past Mycroft and holds up that little black phone.   
“There’s more ... loads more. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.”  
And Mycroft is reminded of that header of hers, “Know when you've been beaten”. She certainly had him, knife on his jugular.   
He lowers his head. 

(Y/N)

There's something very comforting about a fireplace, that warm orange glow. It had a spectacular effect. But the most beautiful lighting in the world wasn't going to lessen the tension of this meeting.   
They were all in Mycroft's home office.   
She's been here hours.   
It was bad waiting. But it seemed almost worse now.   
Sherlock had his back to all of them, in some sorry state of self loathing apparently incapable of even look at her. She wonders if Mycroft had been too mean of if he was just replaying every moment. But now was not the time to ask.   
Not while they were negotiating.   
The Woman is sitting opposite Mycroft, the phone on his table between them. There is no aggression when he speaks.  
“We have people who can get into this.”  
“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months.”  
Sherlock closes his eyes briefly, grimacing slightly. She twists the edge of her dress tightly in her fingers.   
“Sherlock, dear,” Irene looks and sounds for all the world like someone who has won already, and considering...she wouldn't be surprised if that were true, “tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone.”  
“There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive.” Mycroft lowers his head into his hand. “Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.  
“Explosive.” Irene smiles, “It’s more me.”  
Mycroft lifts his head.  
“Some data is always recoverable.”  
“Take that risk?”  
Irene raises a brow.   
Mycroft would not, she knew, take that risk.  
“You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you.”  
“Sherlock?”  
Irene remains unbothered in the slightest. It was starting to irk her quite a bit how many times his name was passing through the woman's lips.   
“There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can’t know which one she’s given you and there will be no point in a second attempt.”  
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Irene clasps her hands in her lap, smug as anything, “I should have him on a leash – in fact, I might.” Irene gazes intensely at Sherlock, then at her, The Woman cocks her head, “Don't like that do you? Don't worry I have plenty of ideas for you, too.”  
Mycroft's jaw ticks.  
“We destroy this, then. No one has the information.”  
“Fine. Good idea ... unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn.”  
“Are there?”  
“Telling you would be playing fair. I’m not playing any more.” Irene reaches in her handbag and pulls out an envelope which she slides over. “A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they’re granted.” Mycroft takes the sheet of paper from the envelope and starts to unfold it. “I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation – but then I’d be lying.” She can tell just from the way Mycroft leans back it's quite the list, “I imagine you’d like to sleep on it.”  
“Thank you, yes.”  
Mycroft mutters, still reading.  
“Too bad.”  
Mycroft looks back up at her. In the armchair, Sherlock snorts in almost silent amusement.   
“Off you pop and talk to people.”  
Irene says with a wave of her perfectly manicured fingers.  
Mycroft sighs, sinking back into his chair.  
“You’ve been very ... thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.”  
(Y/N) grinds her teeth.  
Irene's gaze falls on her glare.   
“I can’t take all the credit. Had a bit of help, Jim Moriarty sends his love.”  
Her heart twists in her chest.   
“Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention ... which I’m sure can be arranged.”  
“I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal.”   
Irene stands to walk around the table and sits on its edge near Mycroft. It would irk her, but she's not looking at the Woman anymore.   
She's looking at Sherlock. He was sitting just slightly straighter.   
“Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D’you know what he calls you?” Irene does have a way of keeping you engaged, “The Ice Man ... ” she says softly, then looking to Sherlock “... and the Virgin.”  
Irene turns to look back at her as though waiting for a rebuttal.   
“Didn’t even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that’s my kind of man.”  
Her eyes flash, Irene's smile sharpens.   
“And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played.”  
Mycroft turns to go and begin meeting her demands. Irene stands with him, confident she has won.  
“No.”

They all fix their eyes on Sherlock Holmes.

“Sorry?”  
“I said no.” Sherlock turns to face them, finally, “Very very close, but no.”  
(Y/N) allows herself that overwhelming confidence she reserves just for him to resurface.   
“You got carried away.”   
Sherlock walks toward the Woman, a glint in his eyes that she loves, her jaw unclenches for the first time in hours. Beside her Mycroft watches them equally transfixed.   
“The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.”  
“No such thing as too much.”  
Irene said almost defensively, and she counts that as a win, the first expression of anything other than smugness.  
“Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely – but sentiment?” he bares his teeth around the word, “Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“You.”  
“Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes?”  
“No.”  
He reaches out and slowly wraps the fingers of his right hand around her left wrist, then leans forward and brings his mouth close to her right ear.  
“Because I took your pulse.”  
He whispers it, and if she were anyone else she would have missed it. But she's a Holmes, and she knows how to read lips. Sherlock's in particular.  
“Elevated; your pupils dilated.” he says against her ear, then in a more normal voice for them all to hear, because he is in control, “I imagine John thinks love’s a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive.”  
He turns and walks a few paces away from her. She follows behind him until he turns and faces her again.  
“When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this ... ,”he tosses the phone into the air and catches it again, “ ... this is far more intimate.” He pulls up the locked screen, “This is your heart ... ” and without breaking his gaze he punches in the code, “ ... you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for ... but you just couldn’t resist, could you?”  
Sherlock smiles briefly and triumphantly.  
He lifts his thumb again but before he can type in the final character, Irene seizes his hand.  
“Everything I said: it wasn't real. I was just playing the game.”  
“I know.” Sherlock gently pulling his hand free, “And this is just losing.”  
He turns the phone towards her and shows her the screen.   
A single beautiful tear slides down Irene's immaculate face.   
He holds out the phone to Mycroft.  
“There you are. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.”  
“I’m certain they will.”  
Myrcroft takes the phone and Sherlock turns for the door.  
“If you’re feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long.”  
Irene stares after him, her eyes wide.  
“Are you expecting me to beg?”  
“Yes.”  
Sherlock says flatly, calmly. He stops near the door, waiting.   
“Please.” He doesn’t move. “You’re right,” he looks at her then, “I won’t even last six months.  
“Sorry about dinner.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“It's alright Sherly, even the best of us can get-”

Sherlock groans, throwing his head back.

“Don't say it-”

“Bamboozled.”

She says it. 

“I hate you.”

She knows he doesn't mean it because he never does.   
Not really.   
He's not even really mad, she can tell because he doesn't walk any faster, still keeping at her pace.   
She smiles into her scarf and smiles down at their feet, hitting the pavement in sync.  
It's quiet for a moment.   
And it's nice really.   
But she just has to ruin it.

“We have awful luck with relationships don't we?”

What was wrong with them?  
It must be something.   
At least it must be something with her.   
Her smile flattens.   
Her thighs didn't ache anymore, but there was no doubt purpling Moriarty shaped fingers would be there when she looks.   
Sherlock only has a somewhat better record because it was blank.

“I hardly knew her.”  
He says dismissively.   
And they hadn't spent very much time together. Not at all. Even less time in person than she and Jim, and that had been...brief.

But she knows her brother.

“You knew her enough to like her.”  
Even John had noticed for godsake.  
Sherlock looks down at her, he doesn't tilt or lean just fixes his pretty turquoise eyes on her. His cheekbones look particularly dramatic in the sparse street lighting.

“I know you better,” he says softly, pulling his hand out of his coat pocket and reaches for hers, “...I like you better, too.”  
And it's not really an answer to her not really a question because they aren't a couple. Even if they are together.   
She can't help but smile.   
It's just so...sweet. 

They walk hand in hand.   
They haven't walked like this since they were kids. Hands sweat and that was just wildly unappealing. And she liked the switch of having her hand around his arm. But it just felt right to hold hands tonight. 

But she wishes she had thought to ask for a ride back to the flat. It was cold and she was so tired from all that stress.   
And hungry.   
She hadn't eaten since-  
She hadn't even eaten then.   
She didn't even finish her coffee.   
She pouts, on the lookout.   
There had to be something open. A bar maybe. Sherlock would be miserable about going to a bar but she past caring as long as there was something deliciously cheesy and or fried, she could stand to suffer the company of people and he would just have to deal.  
There!  
She spots a place up ahead.

“I'm hungry,” she turns to look pointedly up at him.

Sherlock sighs and his warm breath forms a little cloud in the cold air before it disapates.

“Let's get dinner, then.”

“Let's.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be a nice symmetry thing for her to have picked Sherlock over Moriarty and then end with Sherlock picking her over Irene. Even though it's not exactly the same, but cute I hope?   
> I took a bit of long break because of school but also because I didn't know how to end it and I knew I didn't want to follow the whole show because everything after Moriarty felt off, but also not everything with Moriarty fits.   
> I really liked my oc though, I think I might write one shots with similar setup, possibly with teenlock and her, or possibly nsfw. Idk I have ideas but I’m literally blushing just admitting that so idk if I ever will.   
> Anyway I hoped you liked the ending. Thank you all for reading and for being so nice! I hope you're all staying safe <3


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